Prologue

A/N: First in what may or may not be a series. This is just an idea that took root and flowered. It is Ranger's Apprentice... with a small twist. I'm hoping to update weekly.

Disclaimer: Not John Flanagan.

Please enjoy!

Jonathan Lovell, outlaw or as he liked to say "wandering bandit", sat perfectly still at the edge of the cobbled road, watching as travelers passed him by. He had been sitting here for hours now, waiting. As the minutes ticked by, he would rearrange his position, stretching out his legs and occasionally giving his arm a good shake, twisting and turning to prevent cramps and to keep himself active. He had been here since night had fallen, patiently waiting and watching this great stretch of road before him.

It was nearly midnight now and the stars were out, twinkling dimly on this moonless night. It was here that Lovell shifted once last time, now moving into a new position this night: crouched low, with one hand on the large sword he had pilfered from the rotting corpse of a freelance not too long ago and the other on the ground, ready to spring upon his target. He had been waiting so long for this time, knowing that if successful, he would be the richest bandit in Redmont Fief.

At first, nothing happened. Lovell crouched and waited, watching as three travelers passed him by: an old farmer wearing a large hat on a knobby, hobbling horse, a young messenger with a feathered cap nearly falling off his horse, and a young couple dressed in plain farmer's garb sharing a tiny, shaggy pony. None of these were his target, and it was with some annoyance that Lovell shifted again, attempting to ease his cramped muscles without breaking his crouch. So distracted was he by the slight tightness in his legs that he nearly gave a shout of happiness when he saw an outwardly plain, yet large carriage crest over the horizon of his line of sight, horse slowly meandering down the road with a gentle clop clop clop of his hooves. The carriage driver was hunched over, hood over his head, obviously asleep.

Perfect.

There was no pause, no warning shout. No, Lovell merely leaped out of the bushes he hid in and sprung forward, sword hissing as he swung it towards the driver's neck. For a brief moment, a mist of warm, wet liquid met him, before the driver's body tumbled to the side and over to the side of the road, where it lay still, covered by the driver's dark traveling cloak. This was the reason why Lovell had yet to be caught; he left no witnesses, never allowed his victims to live. He then reached out and stopped the horse, causing it to still so he could gain access to the carriage.

Eager to gaze upon his new bounty, Lovell dashed over to the carriage and threw open the doors, knowing that the taxes that was to be sent to the baron lay hidden inside. What meant him, however, was the cold, dusty interior of a carriage, not a gleam of gold or a corner of burlap sack inside. Anger and confusion rose in Lovell; what was going on? How did this happen? He had hidden in the village just outside Castle Redmont for three days, listening to the whispers and complaints of the villagers. He had stolen from a young student at the Scribe School a map of the very route the tax carriage would take, bribed (and murdered) two tax collectors to tell him the exact time the carriage would be on this road, then came to it hours before it was due. Everything was planned out perfectly and in absolute secrecy, so why-

An arrow came out of nowhere, burying itself into Lovell's wrist, causing him to shriek as his sword clattered to the ground. Without warning, another arrow came at him, this time striking him in the left calf. With a scream of pain, Lovell dropped to his knees, one hand gripping his wrist, fingers twitching and tearing at the shaft of the arrow, as though attempting to rip it out. His vision blurred and wavered, but any sort of welcoming darkness was wiped away almost immediately as yet another arrow buried itself into his shoulder, pinning him to the wooden carriage.

A figure stepped out of the very bushes that Lovell had been hiding in only minutes before, longbow strung and already nocked with another arrow. Lovell recognized that large hat: it was the farmer on the knobby horse. But before he could glare at the offending archer or even spit at him, another figure walked out from his left, also wielding a longbow: the messenger, whose feathered cap had been discarded for a long, mottled cloak.

His pulse was racing now; Lovell understood what had happened. He had been trapped. Like some naïve child, he had been lured by candy and trapped by the dreaded Rangers of Araluen. They said it was bad luck to incite the anger of a Ranger; Lovell had just angered at least two.

No, four. Lovell's eyes widened as the couple now came into view, with the woman removing her wig to reveal dark hair. When she turned down the collar of her dress, Lovell realized that she was no woman at all, but a man, one with a long, scraggly beard that looked like it had been messily trimmed with a knife. The supposed woman's companion was no better; in fact, he too sported a scraggly beard. As he approached, Lovell saw that the man, now swathed in the infamous mottled green cloak of the Rangers, possessed dark grey, almost black eyes, so sharp and cold that for a brief moment, Lovell forgot about the throbbing pain in his body and shuddered, desperate to look away. However, a powerful hand gripped onto the top of his head and forced him to turn it to, once again, gaze right into those steely grey eyes.

"Are you working for anyone?" the Ranger asked, voice low, yet thick with the underlying threat. The other three Rangers fanned out, backs to this Ranger, longbows at the ready.

"N-No, sir!" Lovell answered. For a moment, this seemed to please the Ranger, as the grip on his hair slackened. However, just as Lovell began to relax, the grip returned and Lovell's head was slammed into the carriage behind him, causing him to cry out as the arrow in his shoulder was buried even deeper.

"That carriage was supposed to be carrying silver," the Ranger stated, as though he were speaking to a child. "And you and I both know what it means to have silver."

For a moment, Lovell was confused. What did it mean to have silver? A small whisper in the back of Lovell's mind, however, brought a memory up to the forefront: his mother had told him a story, one about a certain Baron of a now extinct fief and the horrible beasts he found in his exile to the Mountains of Rain and Night…

"N-No, Ranger! No!" Lovell said, desperation rising in his voice as he rapidly shook his head, fear bubbling up in his stomach as he began to tremble. He needed to get out of here. He was willing to do something, anything, to get away from the ice-cold gaze of the Ranger. "I would never! I'm an honest bandit, I'm-" he swallowed, fear gripping at his throat as he began to thrash, ignoring every sharp stab of pain that went through him. "I'm not a freak! I'm not a freak, like you!"

At this, the Ranger sighed. The fear and loss of blood was now getting the better of Lovell; his vision was beginning to darken. The outlines of the three other Rangers began to waver and wobble. "No, I suppose you're not a freak." He stood. "But… you are making this freak rather late for a very important appointment." Lovell heard no more as the Ranger drew the large knife at his side and drove it hilt first to the side of his head.